


A Spoonful of Sugar

by braidedbootstraps



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Mary Poppins (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Multi, aziraphale is mary poppins you can't change my mind, bit gay, bit wonderful, m/m - Freeform, the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 18:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19729642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braidedbootstraps/pseuds/braidedbootstraps
Summary: The Angel Aziraphale was humbly floating above the clouds along an East Wind in 1910 when he was quite astonished by the pieces of a letter fluttering into his fingers. Upon reassemble the letter advertised a Nanny position for two adorable children - Jane and Michael Banks.An AU where Aziraphale becomes ‘Mr. Poppins’ and seeks to guide the banks children down the path of light (against the efforts of a suspiciously reprobate chimney sweep named Crowwley.)





	A Spoonful of Sugar

It was 1910, and by all accounts the 20th century was just getting started. Aziraphale was thoroughly enjoying himself- tearooms after all had just been invented and he was toying with the idea of starting up one of his own. 

Far above Kensington, dark grey clouds broached a coming downpour and just above them Aziraphael floated. He glanced down every now and then at the scurrying efforts of London. It must be coming on 5 o’clock and the roads were sure to be hellish. He smiled briefly, which might have looked like a wink of light through the overcast from the street.

It was unusual for him to fly at all, and especially so high, but he wanted some quiet and the open sky seemed perfectly suitable; albeit damp. The tea room idea was attractive. It could be light blue on the inside, and have a sheltered spot to eat outside and…Oh! “Books!” he muttered to himself and began looking at once for a paper in his coat pocket. A multitude of notes, bits of documents and important doodles were at once fluttering around him.

Azirphale snatched a piece of paper from the air and materialised a pen. Books! The tearoom could have books! Surely such a thing had never before been done. He scribbled furiously on the paper as the other scraps ruffled. A marvelous idea! And… 

His pen slowed. The angel lowered the paper and slowly put it in his pocket. As if following their cue, the other scraps fluttered back into the pockets from which they’d come. They’d never allow it upstairs. Suspicious, they’d call it. For how would it serve to fulfill the plan? Both of his hands now in the pockets of his coat, Aziraphale tucked his chin downwards. It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t really be for the good of humans, necessarily. But they’d like it. He would have liked it. 

Sighing a little, he settled down into a cloud. Perhaps in a few years… they might even be calling tearooms something different then. Oh, he did hope that tearooms wouldn’t go out of fashion. 

....

Far below at Cherry Tree Lane, Jane and Michael Banks had just been recovered from the park and were sent to bed without any supper.  
Jane’s hand shook a little as she carefully spelled ‘Nanny’. “Is Ellen coming back?”

Micheal poked his head around the nursery door. “No.” In one hand he held Teddy by his foot, and steadied himself on the door handle with the other. 

Jane drew her name in curled letters. “Here, you sign too!” She held up the pen for Micheal who joined her signature at the bottom of their advertisement. Jane had written it from what they’d decided together; she had the nicest handwriting. The Banks children looked at their work on the nursery table. Several screwed up attempts littered the desk in Jane’s nicest paper. Micheal had the best ideas, but it was Jane who knew what to say.

“Come on” Jane got up to put on her dressing gown. Micheal tucked Teddy carefully into her seat. They took the letter and delivered it downstairs, where a recital would take place. Micheal would just remember to join Jane in singing “Hurry Nanny… many thanks, sincerely, Jane and Michael Banks”

They were in bed before Mr. Banks had torn it up and thrown the pieces into his fireplace. Sing songs, play games indeed! But interesting pieces of paper had a habit of finding their way into heavenly hands. Especially if the concerns of well-meaning humans were written upon them. The gentlest of drafts lifted the pieces up the chimney to the east wind, which of course did the rest.

....

Aziraphale hadn’t really been paying attention when a piece of paper struck him in the face. He spluttered and snatched the fragment out of the air. “What on earth…” 

As he peered at the simple letters, a whole train of pieces rushed after the first. It was as if they were fighting for space in his hand. “Excuse me!” Aziraphale spat out an enthusiastic slip that had missed his hand entirely and struck him in the mouth. “Alright! Now, just wait a moment!” He held his left hand out over the quivering pieces that were crowding his right. They stilled and as he waited, got themselves into order. As the pieces lay flat their fibres reconnected across each tear in a way that Aziraphale found a little like knitting: If he stopped to think about how he was doing it, he’d probably lose the nack. 

Aziraphale liked knitting too. He’d liked it quite a bit more before books were invented properly, and there wasn’t much else to do. 

The reassembled paper hung meekly in his hand. He glanced at the letters contents, for it was a letter. Two children had written this. And they seemed to have worked very hand at it, considering how old they must be, he thought. He smiled a little over the cream lined page. In fact it was an advertisement. One for the general public he thought, which made its appearance to him all the more mysterious.

Now, he wondered… Oh surely, it didn’t hurt to notice. A cheery disposition, rosy cheeks. Well, that was something Crowley had been known to remark upon, if in not quite the same terms. Play Games? Aziraphale smiled at that. He would certainly be good at that. His smile turned heavenwards. There was a divine reason for the letter to have been so insistently delivered to him, surely. And he’d do a very good job. He wouldn’t let them down. He stroked a thumb over the children’s signature. No, he couldn’t let them down when they’d taken the trouble.


End file.
